to contain her thoughts, she reached his study and went inside.
The place was a total shambles. The rug on the floor had been pushed at a slightly drunken angle, and numerous books on the desk were scattered everywhere haphazardly, only just making room for three empty, stained coffee-mugs. Two baskets on the floor alongside were full of crumpled, screwed-up paper, and there seemed to be dust everywhere; Sabrina could see its lazy motes moving and shifting in the shafts of strong sunlight streaming in from the windows. She made a face to herself. This room was obviously out of bounds to Maria, she thought. It also felt over-warm and stuffy; impulsively she went over and unlatched one of the windows, throwing it wide open to let in some fresh air. She didn’t know how long she would survive in this atmosphere.
Glancing down, she saw that the long, narrow garden was laid out in a strip of lawn, and here and there were clusters of stone pots filled with bright-red geraniums.
‘Good morning.’
Alexander’s voice made her turn quickly—she hadn’t heard him come in—and immediately her pulse quickened as she looked up at him. He was wearing chinos and a black shirt, his hair roughly brushed and still damp from his shower. His face was unshaven, the line of dark stubble along his chin drawing Sabrina’s helpless gaze to the seductive black hair just visible beneath his open-necked shirt. He came over to stand next to her and stared down, his dark, sensuous eyes trapping her enquiring green ones for a second.
‘Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you on your first morning,’ he said, swallowing. The memory of last night’s fantasy was still vivid, and uppermost in his mind. How was he going to rid himself of it and act normally? he thought briefly. He straightened his shoulders.
‘I didn’t get to bed until very late last night—well, it was early this morning, actually,’ he added. ‘But I have to keep going until I’m satisfied that I’ve got things right, whatever the hour. Not that it worked this time, I’m afraid,’ he added.
Sabrina frowned briefly, not knowing how to respond to that remark. She moved away from him and went towards her own desk.
‘Well, sometimes a new day can bring fresh ideas?’ she suggested, cross at the way her cheeks had flushed at being alone with Alexander McDonald. She hadn’t felt this way yesterday at the interview. But that was different. Then she had employed all her clinical instincts to get what she wanted—this job. It had kept her cool, calm and rational, deflecting her thoughts from any other feelings she might experience at being in close proximity to one of the most lusted-after—and apparently elusive—men on the London scene.
But this morning realization set in. She was going to be closeted in this room with him for many hours for the foreseeable future, and once again Sabrina felt threatened and in danger of becoming emotionally affected by a member of the opposite sex. She didn’t need her professional qualifications to work that one out, yet she was quietly horrified. Hadn’t fate’s cruel hand made her decide to stick to work and to the needs of her sister from now on, for all time? She was not going to allow life ever again to bring her to the dizzy heights of supreme happiness, only to dash her to the ground and break her heart into pieces.
She should have been married to Stephen by now, but in a tragic, mad moment destiny had taken over. Stephen had lost his life in a friendly rugby-game, never regaining consciousness from a one-in-a-million chance accident on the pitch.
Sabrina had considered herself the luckiest woman in the world when he’d asked her to marry him. Not just because he was so good-looking, with the most amazing deep-gold hair with eyes to match, but because he was funny, loyal and kind. He had promised Sabrina that Melly would always have a home with them, for as long as she needed it. Life had been so good—too good to be true. How many other men would have understood the sense of responsibility towards her sister made so acute by the family background? Their father had walked out a long time ago, and their mother, Philippa, had remarried when the girls were in their teens and at their most vulnerable. She was now living in Sydney with her husband, and rarely came back to the UK, confining her interest in her daughters to somewhat irregular phone-calls. So everything that had happened had made Sabrina feel as if she really was left holding the baby—and knowing with absolute certainty that now she’d never hold one of her own. Because she’d never trust love again, never risk losing again, and she’d managed to convince herself that her need for a man, any man to share her existence, had died for ever.
Yet the burgeoning rush to her senses now told its own story. It was undeniable that Alexander McDonald was seducing her—in thought, if not in deed! It was hardly his fault, but it was the worst possible scenario for a successful business-arrangement, so she’d better get a grip and keep any wayward thoughts well under wraps, she told herself.
Alexander pushed back the chair by his desk and sat down heavily, glancing down with some distaste at the disorderly mess in front of him.
‘I should at least have washed up these mugs before I eventually went to bed,’ he said. He glanced across at Sabrina. ‘Do sit, Miss Gold.’
Sabrina didn’t sit down, returning his glance squarely. ‘I hope you’ll call me Sabrina,’ she said, thinking almost immediately that maybe Alexander McDonald preferred to be more formal with his staff.
But straight away he said, ‘Good. And I’m usually known as Alex. So at least we’ve cleared something up this morning.’
He smiled across at her briefly, his full lips parting to expose white, immaculate teeth. Desperately trying to rein in her imagination—and failing once again—Sabrina fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to have that sensuous mouth close in on hers. He was impossibly handsome, she thought, as his blue-black eyes searched her face. Yet Sabrina was aware that there was a hint of something more behind Alexander’s overtly masculine features, his obviously desirable appearance. There was something about him that both excited and intrigued her. She tried to stem the annoying tingling at the back of her neck, and as he continued scrutinizing her Sabrina had the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading her mind. She certainly hoped not. She tore her eyes from his penetrating gaze, clearing her throat.
‘Do you have any sort of set plan for me…to make a beginning?’ she said tentatively, glancing around and wondering where on earth they were going to start. She hoped she wasn’t expected to come up with any brilliant ideas for the current project he seemed to be having difficulty with. She’d never tried her hand at creative writing, though she’d always been an avid reader from as far back as she could remember. Alexander McDonald’s books were known to be serious and highly literary tomes, and from what she’d read in the book reviews his plots were strong, often dark and with no happy endings guaranteed. They were not really her own choice of reading matter at the end of a working day spent trying to unravel troubled lives and situations for her patients. She wondered briefly when she’d be able to return to her own profession.
‘Have you ever read any of my books?’ Alexander asked bluntly, desperately trying not to keep looking at her. Sabrina coloured up again; he was reading her mind! She paused for only a fraction of a second.
‘No—I haven’t,’ she said simply. ‘I have read about your books in all the reviews, and they seem…somewhat heavier material than I can cope with.’ She hesitated. ‘My normal reading time is an hour or so before I go to sleep,’ she explained. ‘And what I need then is total relaxation, a distraction. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be thinking, dreaming, worrying about all your characters, to have them on my mind all night.’
There was a moment’s silence after that and Sabrina hoped she hadn’t put a nail in her own coffin. If she wasn’t careful this could turn out to be a very short-term employment. She didn’t think Alexander McDonald appreciated criticism—or,
